


The Thief of Hearts

by house_of_lantis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, chrispeter - Freeform, flashfic, petopher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BASED ON TUMBLR PROMPT: Chris Argent is an archaeologist and Peter Hale is an antiquities broker. He steals relics from Chris’s sites to sell on the black market. Chris hates Peter and what he stands for. And if anyone knows how to push Chris’s buttons, it’s certainly Peter – his ex-husband. </p><p>EDITED NOTE: The original prompt and story idea belongs to Moonlettuce (aka Claire). Thanks for letting me play in your sandbox! </p><p>URL: http://moonlettuce.tumblr.com/post/87491471274/throw-me-the-idol-i-throw-you-the-whip</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr: http://theserpentgirl.tumblr.com/

Dr. Chris Argent seriously contemplated calling the local Beacon Hills Community College to cancel the archeology summer program. Ever since he moved to the small town two years ago, the school had recruited him to teach a number of intro courses and Chris was excited to get back into the classroom. He hadn’t taught since his grad school TA days and he loved the idea of working on curriculum again. When he proposed forming an archeology club, the school approved it immediately and the town found money in their budget to sponsor the dig site in the Preserves.

But after spending 10 hours on site with the eight student volunteers, one of which he was certain wasn’t even registered at BHCC, Chris was tired and in need of a drink. Once they figured out that working a dig wasn’t glamorous, they settled in to do the hard work. McCall was enthusiastic enough, but he wanted to be a vet. Isaac was, thankfully, quiet but he had a tendency to daydream and ask about Chris’s daughter, Allison, who Isaac had met when she worked on the dig site the year before. He was glad that she was at the Sorbonne and summering in Italy with her friends. And the Stilinski kid, who was actually at Stanford, tagged along each day, talked non-stop about Batman meta, and was a fountain of information about the Beacon Hills Preserves.   

With an exhausted sigh, Chris walked out of the elevator to his condo, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. He closed the door and checked the security panel, frowning slightly to find that it was disabled. He locked the door and tossed his bag and his keys on the hallway table, thinking that he had forgotten to turn the system on when he left early morning.

He grabbed a beer from his fridge and kicked off his shoes, heading slowly for his office to check his e-mail and Allison’s Facebook page for new pictures of her adventures. He inhaled and frowned, the familiar scent of clean musk hitting his memory. It had been years since he thought about that cologne; and he silently berated himself for being an idiot. Of course there was no reason for Chris to believe that someone wearing _that_ cologne would be in his—

There was someone in his goddamn office.

Through the slightly ajar door, he could see movement. His first instinct was to reach for a weapon, years of being on dig sites all over the world and protecting his finds from scavengers and thieves. He quietly set his beer bottle on a nearby table and pushed opened the door with his hand.

Chris shouldn’t have been surprised to see the man sitting in his chair, ankle propped over his knee, looking quite pleased with himself.

_What the fuck was he doing here?_

“Your security system isn’t as good as you may think.”

“What are you doing in my office?”

Peter Hale smirked. “You look good, Dr. Argent – it’s _Professor_ now, isn’t it?” Chris watched as Peter took his time looking him over, cocking his head slightly as he met Chris’s unimpressed gaze. “Better than the last time I saw you, _ohhh_ how long has it been now? Five years? It was in Staffordshire, wasn’t it?”

“You stole over a million dollars in gold artifacts from the Staffordshire site.”

He looked over the room carefully, knowing that Peter found the wall safe behind the picture of Allison. There wouldn’t be anything in there that would be valuable enough for Peter to steal. He looked at the floor in front of his desk to see the carpet fringe laying too straight against the hardwood. Peter found the floor safe, but even he wouldn’t be able to crack it.

“’Stole’ is such a strong, ugly word,” Peter said, folding his hands over his stomach.

“I thought you’re on INTERPOL’s top 10, how did you even get back into the country?”

Peter chuckled. “I still have a few friends in high places.”

“What do you want from me?”

“How is my darling step-daughter?”

“She’s fine. Don’t change the subject. What do you want from me, Peter?”

Peter stood up slowly. “You wound me, Christopher; can’t I risk my life and liberty to come and see my husband?”

“ _Ex_ -husband.”

He watched as Peter prowled across the room. He had bulked up since the last time Chris saw him, all lean muscle and tanned skin now. Living on stolen wealth and on the run must be working out for him. Peter knew that Chris was looking him over and was more than willing to give him a show, turning slowly to lean back against the front of the desk, foot tapping on the carpet hiding the floor safe. Peter gave him a knowing smile, his hands curled on the edge of the desk.

“What kind of treasures are in the Beacon Hills Preserves? It must be something provocative to lure the famous Dr. Christopher Argent to dig there. So it makes me very curious about what it is that you and your little collegial crew are digging for out there,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s just a school club; we’re not actively digging for anything specific. I’m teaching them how to properly excavate a site,” he said, shucking out of his jacket and tossing it on the low couch. “Not everything is about finding treasures to steal and sell on the black market.” He gave Peter a long look. “I don’t have anything for you to steal, Peter, so answer the question: what do you want from me?” 

 


	2. Chapter 2

In hindsight, Chris knew that his marriage to Peter was doomed from the start; it hadn’t even lasted a year. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself at the time.

When his wife, Victoria, had died when Allison was a freshman in high school, Chris didn’t think that he’d ever find someone to settle down with again. He didn’t want anyone for the long-term and spent his lonelier nights in bars meeting like-minded people. It was never satisfying enough, but it was acceptable.

He threw himself into his work and dragged Allison all around the world with him until she finally put her foot down.

_“Dad, two years is enough. I’m tired of the digs and homeschooling and sleeping in a tent. I want to go to a real school and make friends and put down some roots,” she said, pushing her fork through her uneaten macaroni and cheese._

_Chris sighed, guiltily, reaching over the table to hold her hand. “I know, sweetie, I’m sorry. I’ve been so selfish. You’re right; you should be able to put down roots and have a life of your own.”_

_Allison slid out of her chair and tucked against his side, hugging him. Chris smiled, holding her close. “Thanks, dad. I just…I don’t want you to be alone, though.”_

_“Work keeps me busy.”_

_She gave him a small, sad smile. “Mom wouldn’t want you to be alone either.”_

_Chris swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. When Allison was a baby, he and Victoria talked about what to do if either one of them ever died. She was a military brat and grew up knowing that families needed contingency plans. They both wanted the other to continue living a good and happy life; to create a family for Allison. Chris made sure that his life insurance would give them financial freedom._

_“It’s okay, kiddo. I don’t want you to worry about that. We’re doing good, aren’t we?”_

_“Yeah, we’re great, dad.”_

_“I’m pretty sure you already have a couple of schools in mind, don’t you?”_

_She laughed, brushing her hand over her eyes. “Well…of course I do. Can we go visit the Leysin American School in Switzerland? They have the best archery program in the world; their coach is an Olympic gold medalist.”_

He knew that Allison was an exceptional young woman and competitive enough and _interesting_ enough to be accepted into the exclusive boarding school. After making sure Allison was settled in at Leysin, it took Chris some time to figure out what he wanted to do next. He was open to the idea of flitting around from dig site to dig site. His reputation and his ability to fundraise made him popular with big schools with archeology departments.

And he also caught Peter Hale’s eye.

Chris was invited to guest lecture at the Peabody Museum of Archeology and Ethnology in Boston and Peter had sat in on his presentation, watching him in silent amusement, and invited Chris out for a drink afterwards.

He really should’ve known better, but the younger man was charming, intelligent, elegant, and just a little dangerous.

_“I buy and sell antiquities on behalf of private collectors,” Peter said, sipping his bourbon. “I’m fascinated by your work, Dr. Argent. I admit that I’ve followed your career in the field for a number of years.”_

_“Call me Chris,” he said, raising his beer towards Peter._

_“I was especially interested in your 2000 excavation of the Corieltauvi coins in Leicestershire. You recently uncovered a new hoard in…the name escapes me now…”_

_“Reynard’s Kitchen Cave,” he said, nodding his head, inexplicably pleased by Peter’s knowledge. “You must do a lot of academic research for an antiquities broker. That hasn’t really made it to pop culture news. It’s not quite as sexy as excavating a new section of a pyramid.”_

_Peter chuckled, leaning forward in his chair, meeting Chris’s eyes. “As I said, I’m fascinated with your work. I’m fairly certain that I heard that the coins were worth about half a million dollars. I’m curious about something, though.”_

_“Shoot.”_

_“You always donate your finds to the national museums. Have you ever thought of keeping the treasures for yourself?”_

_Chris laughed, shaking his head. “Not really. I believe that the relics belong to the people; what better way to continue educating and inspiring the next generation of scientists than to be able to show people mankind’s treasures?”_

_“That’s very Indiana Jones of you, Chris.” Peter patted Chris’s knee fondly, an amused look on his face. His long fingers lingered on Chris for just a bit longer than necessary, Peter’s blue eyes focused on him._

Chris took Peter home with him that night and, surprisingly, Peter stayed.

Of course he stayed.

He needed Chris’s access to the Peabody Museum to steal antiquities. None of them knew, at the time, that the five thefts over the course of two months were clearly inside jobs. Security disabled, no prints to collect. It was the work of a master thief who knew what to take and how to take it. No one had thought to suspect Peter; not a man of his sterling reputation. It wasn’t until much later that Chris finally understood how Peter was able to keep such a sterling reputation. He had a network of highly placed and well paid informants; and he wasn’t above using blackmail and threats to secure their silence and his safety. Chris would never really know the extent to which he was played. He knew that his trust in Peter Hale had cost millions of dollars.

After Boston, he was invited to Oxford University, and he was pleased when Peter went with him.

_“Aren’t you worried about losing work?”_

_Peter licked his chest. “The wonderful thing about being an antiquities broker is that I can work anywhere in the world, all I need is a computer and Internet access.”_

_“I think you enjoy being a kept man,” he said, jokingly._

_“Is that what I am? Hmm? Just a kept man?” Peter kissed down Chris’s stomach, the soft hairs of his neatly trimmed goatee teasing Chris’s belly button._

_Chris sucked in a breath, shivering. “Does that insult your sensibilities? Should I make an honest man out of you and ask you to marry me?”_

_Peter smiled and licked his lips. “I do.”_

It took time for Allison to warm up to Peter and they both understood that she had to work through her feelings about their relationship, so soon after Victoria’s death. They visited her in Geneva and took her on a grand summer vacation throughout Europe. By the end of the summer, Peter had won her over completely and the two of them were thick as thieves, busily conspiring to put together a private and intimate wedding on the Cote d’Azur.

_“Do I have any say in this?”_

_“No,” they both said, tartly._

Chris was just happy and content that his soon-to-be husband and his daughter were becoming closer. Despite everything that went wrong in his relationship with Peter, Chris knew that Peter loved Allison and doted on her still. She would never want for anything, if Peter had his way. He knew that there was a secret trust for her that Peter had set up, even before they were officially married.

Their inevitable divorce was hard on Allison. She was angry at Peter for being a liar and a thief, but she loved him fiercely as a stepfather. She cut Peter out of her life the first couple of years after their divorce; Chris found out that they were on friendly terms again when he saw a picture of Allison and Peter having lunch together in her favorite café in Geneva.

_“I didn’t know that you and Peter were talking.”_

_“He apologized…and then I kicked him in the balls.” Allison shrugged. “He’s Peter, he’s hard to ignore.”_

Chris knew better than anyone that Peter was hard to ignore. Towards the end of their marriage, Peter seduced Chris with his cunning mind and his talented mouth, their arguments ending with Chris holding Peter down on the nearest surface, fucking him hard and long until Peter was begging for it, his usual calmly controlled nature slipping to reveal his animalistic side.

It was the best sex Chris had ever had.

There was something about Peter that made Chris turn savage, biting Peter’s tanned skin and forcing him to make delicious sounds of submission. It was Chris’s one weakness; the only way to save himself was to get as far away from Peter as he could. The first year after their divorce, Peter stalked him around the world, showing up at Chris’s dig sites, slipping into his tent at night, fucking Chris to exhaustion, and stealing away before dawn with Chris’s finds.

The last time Chris saw Peter was in 2009 in Staffordshire. Chris had accidentally discovered what would be called the Staffordshire hoard, thousands of 7th century coins during the time of the Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Mercia. It was a rare and significant find and the bidding war by museums for the entire collection ran into the millions. Peter stole over 300 coins and disappeared after giving Chris a final kiss.

And now, five years later, Peter was back in Chris’s life, giving him that same sly look that made Chris’s blood run hot, his skin tingling with the sense memory of having Peter on his knees. His cock grew harder under his jeans as he walked closer to his ex-husband, waiting for Peter’s lies to begin.

Peter smiled, tilting his chin up as he looked up at Chris. “Don’t you think our game has gone on for long enough, Christopher?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of angry/rough sex, but consensual.

Chris was determined not to let Peter get the best of him this time. There was no way that he could ever trust Peter again, no matter what pretty lies came out his mouth.

“It’s _always_ been just a game for you, hasn’t it.”

“Christopher,” Peter chided, giving him a look.

He stepped closer, putting his hands on the edge of the desk on either side of Peter, bracketing him in. “ _I’ve_ only been just a game to you.”

Peter held his stare, the edges of his lips quirking slightly. “Only the _best_ game.”

“Asshole.”

“It’s been years since I could play this game with someone of your talents and caliber,” Peter said, shrugging coyly. “Believe me when I say that you are my favorite. When we met in Boston, I never intended to stay for so long, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to know what you were going to do next. You never bored me; and you always surpassed my expectations.”

“Is this your version of an apology?”

Peter smiled. “Of course not. Why would I apologize for the best year of my life? Because it was, Christopher, the best year of my life. And it was the best year of your life as well.” Chris looked away, but Peter grabbed his chin, turning his face back so that he had to meet Peter’s steady gaze. “No, don’t try to deny it. I made you _very_ happy while we were together. It was…regrettable that it had to end so soon. I was so sure that I could’ve persuaded you to stay, but my mistake was my arrogance. I should’ve known that a man like you couldn’t be bought.”

“Tell me, Peter, did you stay because you liked being in my bed? Trading sex for treasures just makes you a very expensive whore.”

Peter leaned in closer to Chris, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I didn’t hear any complaints and you married this expensive whore.”

He could smell Peter’s cologne, so close like this, and it would be so easy to just lean forward and sink his teeth into Peter’s neck, marking him up like the way that he used to like. Peter’s blue eyes dropped to his mouth and then back up to meet Chris’s steady gaze. It would be so easy – too easy – and Peter was a master in distracting Chris.

Instead, Chris pushed off the desk and stood up, staring at him, a part of him pleased to see the flicker of frustration move across Peter’s handsome face.

“You disappoint me, Christopher, I thought we were having a moment.”

Chris reached out and grabbed a handful of Peter’s hair, pulling his head back. He stood right in Peter’s space, pressing his body against Peter, feeling the heat of him through their clothes, the hardness against his thigh.

“All you do is fuck with me.”

“I want you to fuck _me_ ,” Peter hissed at him, struggling against Chris’s hold on him.

Chris wrapped his free hand around the front of Peter’s throat, squeezing tightly. He could feel Peter swallowing against his palm, his face flushed.

“It’s been five years! Why are you back? What more do you want from me?”

Peter smirked. “This, for a start.”

“Sex. You want sex.”

“Christopher, if all I wanted was sex, I could find any available body in any bar,” Peter said, licking his lips. “I came here for you.”

Chris jumped and then shivered when he felt Peter’s warm hands curl around his waist, slipping under his shirt to trail his fingernails across his skin.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“Get on your knees,” he said, letting Peter go and taking a step back, watching Peter as he smiled, hands sliding down the front of Chris’s thighs as he slowly knelt down in front of him.

Peter smiled, looking up at Chris as his hands expertly and gracefully pulled Chris’s jeans open, tugging the denim down to his knees. He moaned, pressing his face against his briefs, mouthing the head of his cock. Chris reached down and ran his hands through Peter’s hair, tugging a handful.

“Quite teasing.”

“But you love it when I tease you,” Peter murmured, deft fingers slipping under the elastic and dragging them down his thighs, smiling as he stared at Chris’s hard cock. “ _Mmm_ …I have missed this.”

“Don’t tell me that you’ve been celibate the last five years,” he said, snorting. He reached down and tugged off his shirt, tossing it on the floor.

“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” Peter said, chuckling.

“Get on with it.”

Chris watched as Peter curled his hand around the base, lowering his cock so that he could wrap his lips around the head. Chris inhaled through his mouth when he felt the wet heat of Peter’s mouth engulf him, that talented lying tongue sliding over the tip, steady suction making his thighs tremble. He’d forgotten how good Peter was at this; and he’d forgotten how much Chris loved it.

Peter let go of the base, his hands stroking up and down Chris’s thighs, as he bobbed his head back and forth on Chris’s cock, sucking and licking and fucking _teasing_ him.

“Jesus,” Chris hissed, pulling Peter’s mouth off of him, catching his breath. “Fuck.”

“Has it been awhile, darling?”

Chris glared down at him. “Fuck you.”

“Don’t come yet and you can,” he said, fingers digging into the flesh of Chris’s ass, pulling him back into his mouth.

He watched as Peter’s eyes fluttered closed, taking Chris so deep that he slipped into the back of Peter’s throat, groaning loudly as Peter swallowed, the tight constrictions milking him.

Chris was too close; he pulled back harshly and Peter coughed, sucking in a deep breath. He watched as Peter slowly wiped his mouth, his smile hot and knowing, and Chris reached down, pulling Peter up on his feet, kissing that mouth until they were both raw.

Peter’s arms wrapped around him, tugging him even closer, and Chris moaned into Peter’s mouth, sucking on his tongue and tasting salty bitterness. He could hear his blood thrumming in his ears and he grabbed Peter by the hair and pulled him off, turning him around and slamming him down over the front of his desk.

“Fuck, I don’t have anything—“

Peter laughed, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a black foil.

“I still need to get some lube,” Chris said, taking the condom from Peter’s fingers.

“I’m prepped.”

Chris tore open the foil and rolled the condom down his cock, shivering at the feel of his fingers on his sensitive skin. “Arrogant fucker.”

“Just always prepared for every possibility,” Peter said, undoing his pants and pulling them down, uncovering his bare ass.

It was still round and tanned; the arrogant fucker no doubt spent time leisurely sunning himself in the nude. Perverted bastard.

Chris watched as Peter reached back with his hands, pulling his ass cheeks apart to show Chris that he had lubed himself, his rosy asshole slick and shiny. Chris spat into the palm of his hand, wetting his condom-covered cock, and held it down as he pressed the head against Peter, pushing in slowly.

Peter grunted, reaching up to hold onto the edge of the desk, as Chris grabbed Peter by the shoulders and started to thrust hard and fast into his wet tightness. He was partly angry and partly too turned on to care; but when he adjusted his hips and tugged Peter’s hips up with his hands and slammed back into him again, Peter let out a throaty, broken moan of pleasure that sent chills down Chris’s spine.

“Fuck! Chris—“

“Don’t come, Peter,” he hissed, leaning over Peter’s back, setting his teeth on the lean ropes of muscle there, biting gently. “Don’t come and you can fuck me after.”

“Yes, fuck!”

Chris reached down and grabbed Peter’s wrists, holding him tightly as he thrust into Peter again and again, rough and hard and fast, gritting his teeth as he felt his balls tighten. He groaned harshly as Peter arched under him, trying to thrust back against Chris, feet scrabbling against the smooth hardwood floor.

“Gonna come now,” Chris grunted out, letting go of one of Peter’s wrists, grabbing his forehead and pulling his head back to kiss him. It was an awkward position, but Peter twisted, mouth sliding together as Chris panted against his lips, whining loudly as he started to come, shoving Peter against the edge of the desk, holding him down as he shuddered and shuddered, hips pumping his cock as deep as he could go.

Peter groaned, pulling away, slamming his forehead against the desk. “Fuck! Fuck, Chris, get off me, I’m going to fuck you, I’m going to come as soon as I get inside.”

Chris let out a heady moan, his body buzzing with pleasure, pulling gently out of Peter. He laughed as Peter pushed Chris to the floor, tugging off Chris’s boots, his tangled jeans and briefs, throwing them across the room. He watched as Peter pulled out another condom foil, ripping it open and rolling it over the head of his own cock.

Peter manhandled his legs, hands grabbing him under the knees and pushing his legs back, opening him wide. He spat right against Chris’s ass, leaning down to press his tongue inside of him, shoving as much spit as he could into Chris.

“Jesus Christ, Peter!”

He thought his cock might have tried to get hard again. He wasn’t a young man anymore and needed a little time before getting hard again, but feeling Peter’s tongue in his ass, slicking him open and licking and twisting against his sensitive flesh was certainly motivation to try. Peter tugged the condom off of Chris’s cock, wiping the come and smearing it on his own condom-covered cock.

“Just relax, this won’t take long,” Peter said, arranging Chris’s legs the way he wanted, and gently pressing into Chris.

Chris groaned, closing his eyes and arching his neck. He grabbed onto Peter’s hands, taking a deep breath and relaxing his body, the slight twinge of pain was brief and all he felt was fullness. He looked up at Peter, watching the younger man’s face frowning in concentration, jaw clenched as he groaned, thrusting into Chris once and then twice and coming in a long shudder.

“ _Ahhh_ ,” Peter sighed, pressing his face against Chris’s chest, his body going slack over Chris. “Well…that was…”

“You’re a dirty fuck, Peter.”

Peter lifted his head and stared at Chris, a wry smile on his lips. “Just wait until I catch my breath and I’ll show you just how dirty I can be.”

***

He felt Peter slipping off of the couch, moving slowly so as to not wake Chris. But Chris was never a deep sleeper, the warmth of Peter’s body dissipating waking him. He didn’t move and kept his breathing slow and deep, listening as Peter dressed in the silence of the room. It was taking the cowardly way out, but Chris wasn’t under any illusion that Peter didn’t know he was faking.

“Till we meet again, Christopher,” Peter whispered, a soft chuckle against his ear. He placed a kiss on Chris’s neck and quietly slipped out of the room.

Chris kept his eyes closed even though he was alone, listening to Peter’s steady steps moving down the hallway, the sound of the door opening and closing. He sighed, turning on his back and opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

He took a deep breath and sat up, his body feeling bruised all over, and Chris chided himself for feeling like an old man. For a long moment, he stared at the carpet in front of his desk, his curiosity getting the best of him. There was no way that Peter could break into the floor safe; it required Chris’s biometric signature.

It couldn’t hurt to check. He got up and walked to his desk, kneeling down and flipped the edge of the carpet away. He pressed down on the three points of the floor panel, waiting for it to release and pop up. Chris pushed the panel up and peered down at the safe. It didn’t look like it was disturbed; but with Peter, looks were deceiving.

Pressing his hand down against the scanner, he waited for it to read his prints, and then he punched in the ten-digit numerical code, the safe chiming a soft sound, the six steel locks hissing as the hydraulic system slid to the open position. He reached down and grabbed the handle, twisting it once to the right, once to the left, back to the center, and pulled open the safe door.

He grinned, seeing that his treasures were not disturbed.

But the grin faded from his face when he saw a simple black box sitting against the corner of the safe. That was not something Chris had put in there.

_How the fuck did Peter get into his goddamn unbreakable safe?_

He reached down and picked up the box, surprised by the weight, and he hefted it in his hand for a moment. Carefully, he checked the box to make sure it wasn’t booby-trapped, and pulled up the lid, slowly, letting his fingers feel around for any triggers within.

Inside, there was a black velvet bag and a small folded note card beside it. He set the box down and picked up the note card, opening it to see Peter’s familiar scrawl.

_Christopher,_

_You are the thief of my heart._

_P.H._

In the past, Peter had brought Chris little gifts or tokens, sometimes very valuable and other times cheap but sentimental trinkets, whenever he returned from a business trip. At the time, Chris thought it was romantic and utterly cheesy, but he appreciated the thoughtfulness. He wondered what he’d find inside the black velvet bag.

There was only one way to find out.

He picked it up and tugged open the silk cord and shook the heavy object out onto the palm of his hand.

_My God…_

“You are such a fuck, Peter,” he murmured, softly, staring at the gorgeous blue-white gem, sparkling brilliantly from the lamp light.

Because he was holding the Hope Diamond; the one that was in the Smithsonian. Chris didn’t even know how Peter could get past the Smithsonian’s security systems – but to leave the damn thing with Chris…

He sat down on the floor and leaned against his desk, holding the diamond into the air, letting the colorful lights reflect against the walls of his office. Chris laughed, long and amused and mirthful. He hadn’t laughed like that in such a long time; and if he was honest, it was probably with Peter.

“Such a fuck,” he said, shaking his head and staring at the diamond.

As far as he knew, he had two options:

He could contact the Smithsonian and return the Hope Diamond to its rightful owner or—

He could…keep it; guard it.

There was no doubt that Peter would be highly insulted if Chris were to return it. But the implications of keeping it…he’d be aiding and abetting a criminal; holding stolen goods was a felony.

Knowing Peter, this was a test: corrupt an incorruptible man.

Was there a third option?

No. He couldn’t expect Peter to go on the straight-and-narrow; and Chris would never become a criminal for Peter’s pleasure.

He laughed again, tucking the diamond back into the black velvet bag. He leaned against his desk and smiled. Tomorrow morning, he’d contact one of his friends at the Smithsonian and quietly transfer the Hope Diamond back to them. He had no doubt that the museum would want it returned, no questions asked, and to keep the theft out of the papers.

And that could wait until the morning.

He considered that when Peter found out Chris returned the diamond, he’d return for another visit. The game was different now, but it was still a game.

This time, Chris was ready to play.

 

The End.


End file.
